A Mission for Le Beau
by katbybee
Summary: Hogan assigns Le Beau a mission which he must reasonably be expected to fail. ("If it were a strudel, it would be perfection! This is ridiculous…I cannot do this!") I have added the challenge of not allowing LeBeau to cook even one item in this story! Usual useless disclaimers apply. Please R/R.
1. Obstacles

Carter still could not believe it had happened. One too many concussions had finally done it. What really irritated him was that this time it wasn't even his fault! He had been standing outsides the barracks, smoking a cigarette, when one of the guys from Barracks 10 had accidently beaned him in the head with a fastball. Even though Sgt. Wilson had assured him it was most likely temporary and he should be fine within a couple of weeks, it was still hard to get used to. Especially first thing in the morning. He shook his head and turned over in his bunk. He knew Schultz would be coming around to wake them for roll call soon. He sighed and waited.

Soon he heard LeBeau climb from his bunk, and begin to stir the fire in the stove. As always, his actions signaled the other early risers in the barracks, and he heard the room coming alive. Normally, this would _not_ include his bunkmate, Newkirk, but, well, things had changed. Sure enough, there was a hitch in the steady rhythm of his best friend's snoring, which rapidly turned into snuffling and snorting, and then he groaned dramatically as he came fully awake. It had been the same routine each morning for the past couple of days, but it still made Carter chuckle as he listened.

He lay still, and soon enough, he felt the bunk shake as Peter hopped off his bunk. Andrew felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. "'ere mate, 'ow ya doin' this mornin'?"

Carter rolled to face his best friend, knowing what he was really asking. "I'm okay, Peter, but nothing's changed. You know it's too soon."

Newkirk sighed dejectedly as he glanced at Carter's sightless eyes. "I know, mate. Come on, up ya go, then." And he reached for Carter's boots to help him dress for the day.

~HH~

 _Later that day_

Kinch had been downstairs for most of the afternoon, monitoring the radio. Things were slow, and he was savoring the peace and quiet of his private sanctum. One of the airman they had smuggled out of Germany a couple of weeks before had left him a rare treasure. It was Agatha Christie's, ' _The Body in the Library'_ , and he wanted to finish it. She was one of his favorite authors, and it was not often he could get his hands on one of her books; let alone her newest mystery. Kinch was content.

His radio crackled to life, and Kinch immediately left Miss Marple to her investigations and took down the message from London. As always, he remained completely calm and detached as he transcribed the coded message, but as he wrote it out, his eyes widened. He knew that, urgent as the mission was, Papa Bear was in a _lot_ of trouble.

He hurried up to Hogan's quarters and knocked gently. There was a soft response after a moment. Kinch smiled as he stepped into the room. His commander was seated at his desk, pastel in hand. He could see the unfinished drawing in front of him. The men all knew of Hogan's hobby, and he felt no embarrassment over it. Indeed, his drawings covered the walls of his quarters. *

It looked to Kinch like Carter on horseback, the badlands in the background. Hogan raised an eyebrow, and Kinch realized he had been staring at the drawing. That drawing told Kinch everything he had suspected about his commander's state of mind. He blushed slightly and handed the colonel the message as he set the drawing aside, all business once more.

Hogan whistled softly as he read. "With Carter out, how are we supposed to do this? Fitz is out leading that group of airmen to the sub. He won't be back in time." Sgt. Walt Fitzimmons was their backup demolitions man.

Kinch looked askance at his commander. "I understand, sir, but London doesn't know about Carter, remember?"

Hogan looked at Kinch, a pained expression crossing his handsome features. "I never expected one slight omission of the facts to come around and bite me in the butt like this."

Now it was Kinch's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Slight?"

Hogan rubbed the bridge of his nose. He could never let any of his men see how badly the last four days had affected him. If he fell apart now, there was no way he was going to be able to help Carter.

"Wilson assured me it's temporary. And if it's not, a few weeks isn't gonna make any difference. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, we gotta figure out what to do about this mission. Nobody in this camp can build a bomb. And we need one. Right now."

Hogan sighed. He was silent a moment and Kinch could see the wheels turning. After a few minutes, Hogan snapped his fingers and grinned.

"Kinch, go get Carter. I need to talk to him. He's gonna build that bomb after all." Kinch stared at his boss for a moment, but asked no questions. He simply left the room quietly.

~HH~

Carter was sitting at the table, drinking a cup of coffee, listening to Louis and Peter arguing over a round of gin. The headaches he had been experiencing were still hitting him unexpectedly and with blinding force. More disturbing was the dizziness that accompanied them. He had not said anything to anyone about it, because he didn't want to end up back in the infirmary. He had plenty of past experience with concussions, and he knew the symptoms would ease up in time. Besides, he hadn't lost consciousness with it, so he wasn't that worried. He was just grateful he was in little pain for the moment, but boredom was making him stir crazy. Idly, he shuffled Peter's spare deck, listening to the various sounds of the activity around him.

Foster and Olsen were arguing about some girl they both liked, and Taffy was reading part of a letter from home out loud to some unknown audience in the corner of the barracks. He had the feeling it might be their resident Swiss POW, Dieter, who never got mail from anyone, as his family had pretty much disowned him when he quit college in London to join the RAF.

Dieter, aka "Gopher" had originally been assigned to a different barracks, but had transferred over to Barracks Two when, after a rainstorm, he had been one of six men assigned to their barracks temporarily while roof repairs were being made. After the repairs were finished and the other men had been sent back to their regular barracks, Dieter, as head tunnel engineer, had stayed in Barracks Two to be closer to the main operation. Switching two prisoners was not difficult and Hogan had accomplished that task with ease.

Carter's musing was interrupted when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. Kinch was always careful not to startle him, although none of the men could really sneak up on him anyway. "Col. Hogan wants to see you in his quarters." Carter was a bit mystified, but allowed the staff sergeant to lead him to see the colonel. "What's it about, Kinch?"

Kinch shrugged as they walked, Carter's hand on top of Kinch's arm. "Not sure, Carter. Best wait for Col. Hogan."

Carter hated being dependent on the others, but, although he had paced out the room, he still wasn't confident enough to move around quickly on his own. He was grateful that for the most part, his friends all still treated him normally. Kinch tapped on Hogan's door and at the soft reply led Carter to the chair by the desk, then stood waiting. When Hogan motioned him to stay, he shut the door and leaned up against it, curious as to Hogan's latest scheme.

~HH~

The men of Barracks Two were startled a few minutes later when they heard a shout from Carter.

"No, sir! You can't ask me to do that! I'll get someone killed for sure!"

Hogan's voice was also raised, but only for a moment.

"Calm down, Sergeant! That's an order!"

Carter's reply was muffled, and no one could hear the rest of the conversation.

A short time later, the door opened and Kinch, a bemused look on his face stepped out of the office and looked over at the men gathered around the table. "LeBeau, the colonel wants to see you."

Louis was startled. He pointed to himself. "Moi?"

Kinch nodded and waited for him to enter the office before shutting the door.

A few more minutes passed, and another shout sounded from inside the office. If the men thought Carter had been upset, it was nothing to the string of very loud French expletives the men were treated to through the door.

"Stand down, Corporal!" Hogan suddenly shouted in a tone none of them had ever heard him use before. And deadly silence suddenly filled the barracks.

~TBC~

*Refer to the episode "German Bridge is Falling Down." I noticed the walls of Hogan's office are covered with sketches and studies. I just decided to run with the idea of his being an artist as well as a reader and a wicked mad drummer!

** "Gopher" is introduced in my story "Sasquatch and the Three Henchmen."


	2. Not Strudel

Hogan watched the two men staring mutinously, one straight ahead, and one straight at him. He realized he was going to have to say something to try to reach them. He glanced up at Kinch, who continued to lean against the door with his arms folded, wearing his "What did you expect?" expression. He sighed and tried again.

"Look, fellas, I know this is crazy, but it's the only way. We have the parts, and London needs this mission completed. We can deliver the bomb once it's done, no problem. But we must get it built, and Carter is the only one who knows how. But he can't, so we've gotta to figure a way around his problem for right now. And that is where you come in, LeBeau. You would just simply do what he tells you."

" _Mon colonel_ , if it were strudel, it would be perfection! This is ridiculous…I cannot do this! It would be just like that time I tried to teach Andre' to cook. * I stood right there and watched everything he did, I explained _exactly_ what he was to do, and it was still _un_ _désastre!"_

"Colonel, at least when I burn a steak it doesn't blow up the whole camp!" Andrew sniped.

Hogan, as frustrated as he was, nearly lost it when he made the mistake of looking over at his SIC. Kinch's eyes were dancing in amusement as he silently mouthed, "Carter _does_ have a point, sir." Hogan sobered, and decided this was definitely a command moment. "Sorry fellas. Those are the orders. Make 'em work."

~HH~

Kinch offered Carter his arm, but he declined with a wave of his hand. He slowly made his way through the open door, and found his way unerringly back to his place at the table, the awareness of the scrutiny of his teammates scraping across his nerves. He sat down silently. LeBeau strode into the room, glanced around at the men, and, unusual for him, headed to sit on his bunk without a word to anyone.

Andrew felt around on the table and snagged a cigarette from the pile in front of Newkirk. He knew they were there, because the stakes were always cigarettes when they played cards. Smoothly, without looking, Peter lit the cigarette, as if it were the most natural move in the world, and went back to perusing his hand. Carter smiled, despite his anger.

Kinch came out a few minutes later and, as was his custom, took in the mood of the room in an instant. He walked over towards LeBeau's bunk, but stopped by the stove and stood facing away from him, instead looking towards the table. "I know you two aren't happy about this mission. But that doesn't change the facts."

Newkirk looked up as Kinch poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. "Kinch, just what is this mission that has our mates in such a twist?"

Kinch leaned back against one of the bunks. "London needs us to build a remote-detonate bomb and have it ready within 48 hours. We're to meet the contact with it on the Hammelburg Road."

Newkirk frowned. "But we can't do it, mate! Carter's the only one that can build that kind of a bomb."

Kinch shrugged, "Has to be done. The colonel thinks LeBeau can do it. Carter can tell him how."

Kinch held up his hand against the immediate protests that went up around the barracks. Only LeBeau and Carter were quiet. Naturally, Newkirk was the most vocal in his opinions. "'as the guv gone barkin' mad then? 'ow's _that_ bloody well supposed to work? And why LeBeau?"

Kinch looked back at the corporal, sighing, "I don't exactly know, but he wants it done, and he made it an order. And we don't have much time."

Carter, who had been thinking hard and smoking silently throughout this exchange, crushed out his cigarette and spoke quietly. "I can tell you. He wants Louis to do it because he is very sharp and used to working with chemistry..." From the silence, he realized he had their attention. "Cooking is chemistry, y'know. If you don't get everything exactly right…" he made his familiar explosive noises and gestures, and the others couldn't help but grin.

None of them saw Hogan step silently from his quarters during Andrew's animated explanation. He leaned quietly against his doorpost and simply watched. He was curious to see how they were handling the situation. He was not happy with how badly the meeting in his office had gone, because he hated being at odds with his men. And yet, there were times he simply had to be their commander and not just one of the guys.

Andrew continued, "Well, maybe you don't literally blow things up, but it can get really bad. So, I think the reason the colonel picked Louis is because he's used to being precise and doing things a certain way every time. And keeping lots of complicated stuff straight in his head."

Newkirk arched an eyebrow. "If that's what it takes to build bombs, mate, it's a wonder you're still alive." There were chuckles all around, but everyone knew Peter was only kidding, because no one knew demolitions better than their Andrew…even if things sometimes didn't go as planned. But that happened not because he was not skilled, but because of the fluctuation in the quality of ingredients and equipment available to him.

LeBeau had joined them at the table by this time. "So, I am to tell you what I see, and you are to tell me what to do. That is how this bomb will be built, _mon ami_?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I've got everything we need down in my lab. Once we get the pieces laid out, I can tell you what to do with them. The only good thing about it is that it's one of the easier bombs to build…you just have to be careful with the detonator. That part's kinda tricky."

LeBeau rolled his eyes and glanced around in exasperation. "Not exactly a strudel, eh, _mes amis_?"

Kinch grinned, "No, but maybe we can pack it inside one to deliver it to the contact. Maybe let Newkirk bake it…" LeBeau's eyes widened in horror at the thought. He launched a fresh string of muttered curses at the maniacally giggling sergeant as the rest of the men broke into laughter.

Hogan chuckled quietly and slipped back into his quarters, relieved that the tension had been broken. He would join his men in a little while, to plan out the details of the mission. For now, they needed a bit more time. He sat back down at his desk, and picked up a pastel.

~TBC~

*Ref. the episode "Cuisine a la' Stalag 13.


	3. Your Hands, My Eyes

A short time later found the team gathered around the desk in Hogan's office. The mission was a straight-forward one with a rather daunting complication. Carter and LeBeau were both dressed in coveralls, which were normally what Carter wore when working with explosives.

Carter's lab, while not a large space, would normally have accommodated the two men easily, but this situation was not exactly normal. For one thing, though he generally dealt well with it, LeBeau was claustrophobic, and the idea of working in the laboratory for many hours with Carter close beside him was more than he could handle.

For another, although the bomb was not a large one, and something that Carter could have constructed easily on the table in the lab, it would be much more difficult for LeBeau, as each piece would need to be carefully laid out, and then Carter would need to talk him through each step of construction and arming. Even more frightening for the corporal, he would then have to build and arm the detonator, all without blowing himself and his barracks mates sky high.

It had been decided to lay out the pieces on the central table in the barracks. Kommandant Klink was in town for the evening, so it was likely they would not be disturbed, at least until morning. Carter was sure they could finish before roll call, but if not, he had a large box they could put over the bomb to cover it. Hogan was sure he could think of a cover story for the box should any questions be asked. If not, a casual mention of the Russian Front was usually enough to keep the Germans out of their hair.

With Carter directing, the men brought up the parts from the lab, and laid them out on the table. Using both his experienced fingers and LeBeau's vision, Carter made sure everything was properly in place. Once they were ready, he stepped back and nodded.

"Okay, colonel. I think we're ready. Uhh, by the way, you guys might wanna smoke outside until we're done."

He wrinkled his nose at the ever-present cloud enveloping his best friend. The fact he was in his lab so much was probably the only reason he was not a chain-smoker himself.

Newkirk smirked at the statement, then realization hit him. "Ah. O' course mate. Wouldn't dream o' blowin' up our first-class accommodations." A round of chuckles followed him as he left the barracks to finish his freshly-lit cigarette. Just as he reached the door, Hogan stopped him.

"Newkirk?"

"Sir?"

"Don't slam the door."

"Right, sir!" Peter grinned as he left and the whole barracks laughed

Meanwhile, though he joined in the laughter, Louis was dying inside. He was not a coward. It was just that he was so nervous, he was sure he would never be able to do what they were asking. He was a chef! Yes, he was resistance fighter, and he had been a pilot, briefly. He was as brave as the next man…but—he was a chef.

For the first two years of his captivity, he had concentrated on two things. First, on not breaking, and not dying. And second, on keeping Peter Newkirk alive. He had done both those things. And then everything had changed. Colonel Hogan had come to Stalag 13. And Louis LeBeau had vowed to do anything for their mission. Most of what he had done was…to cook. And now? Now he would build a bomb. _Vive la France! Vive le liberte!_

He turned to his commander. "I am ready, mon colonel."

~HH~

First, Carter had Louis go over each part until he was intimately familiar with each piece and its function. This included the detonator. When he was ready, the plan was for LeBeau to put the bomb together under Carter's close direction. Unfortunately, things didn't quite work out that way. Just as LeBeau was finishing up his second run-through on the construction directions, Andrew suddenly turned very pale and gritted his teeth. Alarmed, Hogan turned to him, intent on asking him what was wrong, but he never got the chance. Carter staggered out of his seat, clutching his head, and suddenly passed out cold.

Everyone froze in shock for a moment, and then sprang into action. Hogan barked out orders as Newkirk dove for his best mate. "Newkirk, watch him. Olsen, go get Wilson! Kinch, Dieter, move the table but be careful. Taffy, Foster, move the benches out of the way." During all of this, Hogan had swept off his bomber jacket and laid it over Carter, to counteract shock.

As they waited for Wilson, Hogan stood next to Kinch and stared down at their youngest teammate. Kinch saw the worry and anger warring in his eyes.

"What are you thinking, colonel?"

"I'm thinking Carter suckered both Wilson and me. And I _don't_ like it."

Before Kinch had a chance to ask anything else, the sink slid aside and the trapdoor popped up. Sgt. Joe Wilson, the camp medic hustled into the room and headed straight for the still form crumpled on the floor. He made a quick examination, having been given the basics on the way over by Olsen.

Because he was still unconscious, Wilson was extremely worried about Andrew. He, like Hogan, realized Carter had not been telling him the whole story, and it infuriated him. He was also angry with himself for cutting the kid a break. As many times as Carter had been in the infirmary, he hated it and drove Joe crazy. So, he had let him out, since there was little Joe could do for him while they waited to see what would happen with his eyesight. Carter had assured him that the headaches were minimal and he was experiencing no dizziness. Obviously, the young man was a better con artist than his friends gave him credit for.

He sent Olsen back over to the infirmary for a stretcher. He turned to speak with Col Hogan. One look told Joe that the officer was upset as well. Joe ran a hand through his thick, dark hair as Foster and Olsen loaded the unconscious sergeant onto the stretcher. They used the bunk trapdoor, since that lead to the main tunnel, which branched off towards the infirmary. Wilson hurried after his patient, assuring Hogan and Newkirk he would report back to them as soon as he could.

As the rest of the men began to put the barracks back to order, Hogan turned towards LeBeau, who had stood rooted to the spot, staring at the bomb parts on the table.

In a shocked voice, Louis asked, "Mon colonel, what do we do now?"

Hogan sighed and placed a hand on the corporal's shoulder. "Now, LeBeau, you build a bomb."

~TBC~


	4. LeBeau Builds a Bomb

LeBeau's panic was immediate and obvious. "You can't be serious, mon colonel! I cannot build this bomb by myself! That was not the agreement!"

Hogan shrugged. "I get it, but Louis, look at it this way. What choice do you have?"

Although he was worried about Carter, Newkirk couldn't help it. He grinned at LeBeau, "Well, mate, just pretend you're baking a big soufflé. That ought to 'elp!"

LeBeau cocked an eyebrow at his friend and stepped over to the table. "I suppose you are right, Pierre. But if this soufflé explodes, I want no complaints. Do not say I did not warn you!" Mumbling in French, he began assembling the outer components of the bomb, alternately cursing and praying for his friend lying in the infirmary.

~HH~

Wilson was becoming deeply concerned about his patient. Carter had still not fully regained consciousness since they had brought him to the infirmary. He had roused somewhat, but seemed disoriented. He could not seem to place where he was or what had happened. His vision was exactly the same as it had been before—vague shadows, nothing more. He could only pray it was just the aftereffects of the concussion sorting themselves out. If it was anything more serious…well, Joe was very capable, but he was _not_ a neurosurgeon.

In a way, it wasn't fair, Joe mused. He was still so mad at the kid, he could cheerfully shake him…but he was in no shape for it right now. And so, as always, Joe put a tight lid on his emotions, and went back to going over Carter's extensive medical file. The sheer size of it made him chuckle for a moment. If Joe hadn't already believed in miracles, this kid would definitely have done it for him. He must have run through a dozen guardian angels by now.

~HH~

Louis LeBeau was no longer muttering about anything. He had been working steadily now for several hours on assembling the wiring of the bomb. He had gained a new respect for his American friend. Andre' made it all look so easy, and yet Louis felt as if he were back working as _un commis_ at Maxim's in Paris…confident and somehow incompetent at the same time. He had always under the eagle eye of his _chef de partie_ , as he had been a junior cook reporting to his senior chef. It had been at Maxim's that he had learned to function under pressure, a skill he was still perfecting.

Several nerve-wracking hours later, LeBeau had finally finished assembling the bomb, and was ready to begin the actual detonator. It was early morning, so Hogan called a halt to the procedure, since it would soon be time for roll call. They placed Carter's box over the table-top, and everyone made their way into their bunks, although they would be one man short for the morning count. Hogan, as always, had already come up with a plan to explain Carter's absence. He had sent Olsen over to the Infirmary with a message for Wilson an hour before roll call. Wilson had in turn assured Hogan that Carter was resting and he was keeping an eye on him.

When the familiar shouts of " _Raus_ , _raus_!" sounded a short time later, the men began their normal round of grousing. Schultz smacked Newkirk on the shoulder, which was also a part of the routine. The big guard suddenly noticed the empty bunk below his, and frowned. " _Was is los_?" He asked in alarm. "Where is Carter?"

Hogan moved quickly to his side. "Nothing to be alarmed about, Schultz. Carter just had a bad dream last night and fell out of bed. I had Wilson look at him, and he took him back to the infirmary, just to be safe. You can check with Wilson if you want."

The guard frowned. "That poor boy. I will check on him after roll call."

He was so distracted, he never even noticed the box covering most of the table. "Hurry up, now. Let's go, all of you." The men all hurried to obey, not wanting to give Schultz any reason to look around the barracks any more than necessary.

~HH~

Once roll call was over, the men returned to the barracks with a minimum of fuss, and LeBeau returned to work immediately. Hogan had decided to relieve Louis of his normal duties, as chef and Dieter ended up fixing breakfast. He treated his barracks mates to Swedish pancakes, and much to LeBeau's consternation, wound up making a triple batch, which were immediate inhaled by the hungry men. The one thing Dieter truly regretted was that he was not able to serve them with the traditional lingonberry sauce, but the men enjoyed them all the same. Even LeBeau, at Hogan's insistence took a few minutes to eat, and grudgingly admitted that, while they were not _Crepes Suzettes_ , they were tolerable.

After breakfast, most of the men found other places to be. Whether out of nervousness over the next part of LeBeau's task, or because it was a decent day outside, was arguable. The ones who stayed nearby were the core team, which was not surprising, and Olsen and Foster. The bunkmates were close friends, who spent most of the time Olsen was in camp together. Foster had taken some pre-med courses in college and therefore occasionally acted as Wilson's assistant when the need arose. Now, the two lounged on Foster's bunk, Olsen quietly strumming his guitar, his back propped against the wall. Foster was knitting another in the endless pairs of socks he and Carter supplied to the men.

Gingerly, Louis bent to the task of assembling the remote detonator. He had only a basic idea, from Carter's previous instructions, of what he was doing. He knew what not to do, and as he worked, it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps much of Andrew's genius with explosives was simply knowing what _not_ to do…

As he reached the final stages, he supposed he would know very quickly, (and very briefly) if he did it wrong. He wondered if his guardian angel would be as protective as Carter's seemed to be…but then, he was not particularly religious, so he supposed he should not count on that chance.

Hogan stepped over to him as Louis stopped to stretch a moment. "How's it going?"

"It is nearly finished. How well I have done?" He shrugged, his tired eyes sad. "That remains to be seen. I only wish Andrew could have built it, mon colonel."

Hogan nodded. "I know, Louis."

~HH~

At that moment, they all heard the trapdoor beneath the sink open. Foster and Olsen moved the sink, and Joe Wilson pulled himself up into the room. He was smiling.

Hogan moved over to him quickly.

"Joe?"

The medic held up a cautionary hand.

"He's better. The dizziness and disorientation he was experiencing seem to be diminishing. The headache is easing up. I'm gonna keep a very close eye on him this time, no matter what he says. He is not getting out of there any time soon, even if I have to chain him down."

Newkirk spoke up. "What about his eyes?"

"Still shadowy, I'm afraid. But remember, it hasn't been that long. I still expect he will make a full recovery…. In fact, this incident may actually be a sign that things are starting to change. We'll just have to wait and see."

~TBC~


	5. Epilogue

The men gathered around the stove to await Kinch's arrival from downstairs. He was waiting for a message from the underground regarding the bomb they had delivered the previous week. They had known it was to be used for a mission today, and they were all anxious to know what had happened.

Newkirk was surprised when LeBeau snagged a cigarette from him and lit it. The Frenchman's eyes narrowed in distaste, but he smoked the whole thing, which told the others all they needed to know about the state of his nerves, since LeBeau generally never smoked.

Carter was sitting across the table from Newkirk. His vision had been steadily improving all week. He could now make out shapes, and the forms of his friends. He had finally been released from the Infirmary only that morning, under the watchful eye of Col. Hogan, and on the guarantee that the young sergeant would not be leaving the barracks for any reason other than roll call for at least two weeks. His ears were still burning from the stern lectures he had received from all the men upon his return to the barracks. Hogan felt sure it would be a while before Carter tried to pull something like that on him again. Newkirk, on the other hand, had no doubts at all that his best mate would do it again in a heartbeat.

They heard the familiar rattling of the bunk as it raised up, and Kinch joined them at the table. His expression was unreadable. He handed a slip of paper to Hogan, who read it quickly. A grin spread across his face, and finally across Kinch's as well. Fitz looked up from where he was helping Carter prepare popper packs. "Good news, I take it, Colonel?"

Hogan nodded. "The best. Mission accomplished. The bomb worked perfectly. The munitions factory was destroyed. Good work, LeBeau."

Louis nodded silently. He ground out the butt of his cigarette and tossed it into the red can set aside for the purpose. He stood for a moment and regarded them all, a thoughtful look in his eyes. He then drew himself up to his full height, looked his commander straight in the eye and said very seriously, "For France and for Papa Bear I would die. But do not _ever_ ask me to do that again."

He then walked over to the shelf where he kept his supplies, and tied on his apron.

~The End~

A/N: Just thought I would share something funny about this epilogue with you. I never have LeBeau smoke, since I don't think he ever did. I broke that here, to show his nervousness…and I spent all evening coughing my fool head off! Okay, Louis…message received! LOL!


End file.
